Chapter 3

The quartermaster was a middleaged man who wore his years on his face. Despite his droopy appearance and his massive mustaches he was a pretty sharp cookie.

Zeke introduced us as potential business associates, asking about prices, delivery dates, and numbers. The man knew of our ranch and was pleased we had expressed interest. His prices were fair, even a bit higher than what the US was paying. Zeke set the hook.

“Can you handle about five hundred head now, maybe 500 more in a few weeks?”

“We can, Senor. More if you have them.”

“Well good then. Those cows that just came in are ours. They carry our brand. Now we can handle this a few ways. You can take my word for it and pay us, we can get the Federales involved, or better yet your commanding officer. I don’t give a damn who drove them in or what kind of deal you struck those are our cows. How you handle this will bear on any further business we do. One thing you may want to think about. They killed two of our hands in cold blood and we will be looking them up as soon as our business is over. After we meet one group or another won’t be your problem anymore. Maybe both. Just in case I’ll post a letter to our father saying you acted in good faith and he should honor the deal I made with you. I would ask that if this ends badly for us you contact Miguel Vasquez and hold our bodies for him. He’s our uncle and will fetch us home.Your decision, Major.”

Talk about a rock and a hard place! The Major had a hell of a decision to make. I think the opportunity to purchase more beef swayed him and the fact that we claimed Miguel as our uncle sealed the deal. He was a pretty big deal in that part of Mexico. “All right. I’ll pay you the agreed upon price right now, in gold as requested. The men you are looking for are the Montoya Brothers. They have three men with them and right about now they’ll be at Marias’ Cantina. I have to warn you they do not like Americans there and they won’t be happy when you show up.”

“Thanks, amigo. They’ll be even more upset when we leave. It should take us about an hour to conclude our business. We’ll stop by for payment on the way out of town. A pleasure doing business with you, sir.”

We shook his hand and he surprised us by offering to send a few troopers with us to the cantina.

“No need to bother the Military. They got their own problems. We’ll handle it.”

By now it was gettin’ pretty late in the evening. We checked our weapons and took a liesurely stroll down the boardwalk. I nearly stopped and went in when we passed a restaurant, it smelled that good. Zeke’s stomach growled and I grinned.

Maria’s Cantina was not a first tier place. It was smaller than I hoped and the locals eyed us with displeasure when we walked through the door. We scanned the room looking for men that matched the descriptions the Major had given us. It was pretty easy to spot the Montoya brothers because of their beards and better cut of clothes. They were at a table by themselves and everyone gave them a wide berth. The other three were at a table about halfway across the bar looking nervous. Probably waiting for their bosses to pay them.

We eased on up to the bar. I didn’t trust the glasses so I asked for a bottle of mescal. That would kill any germ in the universe. The bartender took his own sweet time getting the bottle down. I reached into my vest pocket but instead of money I came out with a little two shot derringer. It was about a foot from his belly button. I started talking softly in Spanish.

“You be calm and you will live to see another day. We’re here for the Montoya brothers. That them to the right?”

He nodded slightly, sweat popping out on his brow. “Gracias. Now to avoid any misunderstanding I want you to ease to the end of the bar. I wouldn’t want you gettin’ hit by a stray bullet. As a gesture of good faith I’d like you to bring that scattergun out from under the counter and lay it on the bar. That will keep bad thoughts out of your head. Understand? Good. Now do it real slow.”

He made damn sure his fingers were nowhere near the triggers as he slid it on the bar top. “Both barrels loaded? With what?”

“Buckshot, nails, glass, anything I thought might do damage, senor.”

I looked down. Ther shotgun was an old muzzleloader. I hoped that if I had to use it it didn’t blow up in my face. “Good man. It always pays to be prepared. Now ease on over.”

While I was having my conversation Zeke was facing the room, arms on the bar, looking all relaxed. He was even grinning. When the bar man was out of the way I slid the derringer back into my vest and grabbed the scattergun.

“Which of you sombitches are the Montoyas?”

He said it in English but they understood just fine. The older one leaped to his feet while the younger got up more slowly, wobbling a little. Too much cervaza if I had to guess.

“Who wants to know?” He said it in Spanish so we answered in kind.

“The men whose hands you killed and own the cattle you stole. Bad news about I’m afraid. The Major has seem fit to deal with us so we’ll get the money. All you did was half kill yourselves getting them here. Thanks for that but it’s not enough to atone for your sins. You got a choice. Surrender and face the Federales or buck up and face us. Which one you think you’d like best, a rope or a bullet?”